Battlefield Episodes
by Poddy
Summary: A Bad Company 2 based fic, featuring short, fast, action-packed episodes based on several characters fighting on the same battlefield. Some will survive, some won't, but which ones?   Will be updated regularly due to their short nature. Read and enjoy :
1. Chapter 1

(A/n) This idea came really out of nowhere other than my own enjoyment of Bad Company 2, which has stolen many hours of my life so far, and looks set to take many more with its tantalising unlocks. The concept of his fic is, as the name suggests, relatively short, digestible, fast-paced stories that don't take long to read, and as a result don't take long to write either, meaning if this goes down well I'll be able to keep updating it pretty often as well, which can only be a good thing.

Each overall 'chapter' (i.e. map/campaign) will cover a handful of characters and their experiences in the same environment. Much like the multiplayer aspect of the game, their individual stories can be wildly different, some may die and some might make it without a scratch, but they will always be fighting towards the same goal.

This first 'chapter' is set in Nelson Bay, and I'm planning roughly three or four more characters to follow on the same map, some of them will interact with each other, others won't notice or may never get the chance.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble, I just wanted to make everything clear before you charge in.

Read, review and enjoy :)

The stars were beautiful this time of night, Sgt Hayes was almost jealous of his victim's skyward view as he dragged him through the snow. The corpse's winter gear was thick, enough to contain the blood pumping from the knife wounds in his chest, enough to keep his brutal fate from leaking on the powdered ground.

It was his own fault, Hayes thought, he had watched him sneak away from his patrol to light a cigar, probably contraband, probably stolen. The broad smirk that stretched across his face as he puffed at least meant he was happy before he trod on Hayes' fingers. The Sergeant was happy to let him triumphantly suck away in all his smugness, but fate rapped on his door quicker than the knife went into the Russian's lungs.

That was 20 minutes ago, at least he went quietly. The smoke that stripped him of breath plumed from his nose and mouth as he was skewered in silence. Hayes had flicked the soldier's radio off, zipped his punctured jacket up tight and stubbed out the cigar out in the snow. Hayes spared it a glance, Cuban, where else, and half finished. To die for.

Hayes had dragged him far enough, he had made a deep retreat into the picturesque woods, covering his tracks along the way, laying down motion sensors. He had briefly considered the lake, under the ice, but he didn't want to be around when the next patrol found the water replaced with blood. The sergeant checked the sensor that lay 50 metres to his rear. It pulsed, but found nothing, clear.

Rolling the corpse face-down, his burial began. The snow was thick, easy to compact, perfect for snowballs. It wasn't long before the corpse was covered head to toe and buried deep. He was only a few feet from one of the towering pines; Hayes figured it was safety in numbers. The finishing touches went on, ruffling the top layer of snow to match the rest of the woods, the wind would smooth it over in a few hours, and the tomb would be complete.

Hayes paused for a moment; he knelt, scoured the grave with his eyes for the slightest clue of what lay underneath and gently nodded. The first kill of the Nelson Bay assault, and Hayes had the privilege a whole 30 minutes ahead of the attack. The sergeant breathed a sigh of relief; he'd held it in long since his victim released his final twitch on the ground. Only my second man with a combat knife, Hayes thought, he remembered how different it was to gutting manikins of their stuffing and how the stitches were always tougher than flesh. 2 out of 2 though, a perfect record, something of a necessity.

Hayes swore under his breath. He'd forgotten the man's dog-tag, again. He was mocked the first time he forgot, leaving it around the slit throat of an Iraqi radioman, now his second prize lay 2 feet deep and behind enemy lines.

Hayes' earpiece crackled into life, he blinked from his thoughts back to reality. Hayes skulked back a few paces away from the cold grave to a small crest of ice; he sunk onto his stomach cradling his M24.

"Come in Owl 1, come in" the ear piece crackled. Hayes stiffly pressed the piece into his ear as he spoke.

"This is Owl 1 go ahead, over"

"Good to hear from you Owl 1. What's the situation like on the ground?"

"Cold. Outnumbered, over."

There was a slight pause.

"Copy that. We're getting some good images from our UAVs along the coast. We're estimating the enemy strength at around 200 to 250 strong, no vehicles accounted for so far."

Hayes cooed under his breath, so far he had only seen a handful small of patrols in few hours he'd been deployed.

"Can you confirm that on ground-level, over?" the radio continued.

Hayes knew they wanted to be right, for the sake of operation, but he shook his head. "Negative, Command. I've had visual on 5-plus foot patrols of about 4 hostiles on the edge of the village, no larger contingents, over."

He didn't want to tell them about his first kill, they didn't need to know. They'd either panic and start the show early, or he'd get chewed out for jeopardising the operation.

Another pause.

"Copy that. Be advised Owl 2 and Owl 3 have spotted larger forces and heavy machine gun emplacements; they're deeper into the lines than you at the moment. So it adds up. Neither has engaged with hostiles, over."

A smug grin crept across Hayes' lips. Didn't matter how deep they were, he'd still bagged the first baddie.

"ETA on ground assault, over" Hayes asked calmly. He shouldered his M24, snow slipped off the smooth barrel as it moved, the small magazine jutted out and into the ground, keeping his aim steady. The butt snugly buried in Hayes' shoulder, he set his sights across the frozen lake, scanning over a small haphazard wooden bridge and a rickety grey hut. There was light flickering from inside, it gave the shack an orange interior.

Hayes had been watching a 3 man patrol move in and out. Every 5 minutes one in particular poked his head out and stared blankly into the woods, looking right through the invisible sergeant about 150 metres away. He looked nervous, edgy. He knew something was coming, surely they all did. They just didn't know every move, every patrol and every little campfire was being watched by a shivering sergeant with a 12x scope.

"ETA 10 minutes, over." the radio said hurriedly. The hours had gone fast, even when the heavy snow and the freezing cold slowed everything else to a crawl.

"Just to confirm Owl 1, do you have a visual on Objective Alpha? We think we've got it from the sky, but just to be sure, over." Command asked politely, embarrassed of its uncertainty. Hayes peered through the scope, just beyond the little hut; through the thick trees was a distinctly yellow building. A cosy retreat before the Russians took hold, gutted it and used it to store an M-Com station. The detached house was still there, of course, Hayes wasn't allowed to forget it. Command asked to confirm it again and again, afraid it was going put on some skis and slip down the mountain.

"Roger that." Hayes grunted without a hint of passion. "Objective A still lies 100 metres north of my position."

"Copy that Owl 1", came an appreciative reply. "ETA 10 minutes, hold your position and do not engage hostiles. I repeat, do not engage hostiles. Command out." Hayes chuckled, bit late for that, he thought. He shuffled on the ice for some comfort, keeping his rifle square; he flicked down the bipod that clung to the end of his M24 and nestled it into the powder.

5 minutes had gone already; the sergeant spent it staring dreamily at the picturesque village sprinkled over the ghostly-white hills that hung over the bay. He didn't envy the little lights that twinkled from each and every window; he wouldn't feel safer up there, not much warmer and no less frightened.

"Come in Owl Units. ETA in 2 minutes, I repeat in 2 minutes." Hayes clutched his ear, the radio was always too loud. "Standby and be prepared to encounter friendlies. You are to support and assist in all objectives where ever possible, understood?" A volley of "yessir"s echoed back. "Good luck gentleman, you've been invaluable so far, don't let us down. Out."

Hayes drew a long breath, time for the triple-checks. M24 magazine, full, cocked to fire. M9 sidearm, full magazine, 4 spare, cocked, safety on. 1,2,3,4 motion sensors. 1 pack of C4 only, trigger on left thigh. 1 grenade. It was all there, like it was when he landed in the dusk. He had scoffed at 4 sensors the day before, but the trees, the snow made silence easy, it made him uneasy. He blessed each one as they hung from his waist. He swept a few errand flakes from his scope lens and shovelled a fresh lump of snow onto the top of the butt, it would melt the moment it met the heat from Hayes' cheek.

Then came the hum, the distant murmur of jets. Company at last, not like his invisible countrymen spread along the coast. The murmurs grew closer; the Herculean growls rattled Hayes' stomach, snow began to drip off the tips of the branches. Hayes couldn't help but smile as he saw the enormous jets roar overhead, they defied subtlety, they defied gravity. After the hours of creeping, sneaking and waiting, the jets were a crude interruption of it all. Soon there was shouting, and then the sky filled with pops and booms, the planes started to take flak. Black puffs chased the tails of each one, too many targets to choose from, they exploded above and below, not one was scoring a single hit.

One by one the Hercules banked away towards the open sea, shooed away by the deadly AA fire. Each one looked unfazed by the fire, their flights looked agonisingly slow, yet their confidence looked unrivalled.

The shouting got louder. Voices barked from the ground, echoing off the trees. Hayes clamped his eye to his scope. It was the shed of happy campers. The nervous one was outside on the ice, clutching a G3. He bellowed back into the shed, two other men emerged. All at once they pointed to the skies as they saw the stars swarmed by dozens of men drifting under the clouds. The nervous soldier was smacked on the shoulder; he slipped all over the ice as he stumbled back towards the M-Com station. The remaining two unloaded into the sky, Hayes could hear their bullets clipping the branches of the tallest trees; he felt some thin powder sprinkle onto his legs.

With a jarring crack, Hayes dropped the first. His hand jerked the bolt back as he trained upon the next target. He crushed the trigger in his finger, another deafening shot. The Russian crumpled on the ice; his head slammed on the ground as he fell. The sergeant quickly scanned for the man who ran back to the house.

Hayes saw him shoulder through the door, get inside and out of sight in a split second without a glance back to his comrades. Hayes snapped his focus back on his latest victims, neither stirred. He felt his heart stamping on the ground beneath him; his ringing ears muffled the rest of the battlefield. He only had silence to listen to in the hours before the assault; the two cracks rocked his senses. Sound melted back into his ears, there was a distant crackling, over near Owl 2's position. There was a pause, then a heart-stopping crack, answered with more crackles.

Tracers spattered the sky, flak still harassed the Hercules' as they floated away. A loud explosion echoed through the woods, it was near Owl 2 again, Hayes' heart beat harder, then another piercing crack. He kept his sights on the door, no one emerged.

A flash passed in one of the windows, his crosshair pounced on it fractions too late. He snapped back to the door. A man was half way out of it, Hayes' shot struck just past his shoulder, a yellow chunk of wall slid to the ground.

Hayes twisted another round into the chamber. The Russian dove behind the low wall beside the door, Hayes could hear his panicked cries for assistance. No less that 4 explosions boomed from along the coast, but the louder cracks retorted again. Hayes trained his sights in-between his target and door, giving him a shot at both in a split second.

One burst through the door, firing his weapon from the hip. Hayes fixed his sights to the frightened trooper and fired. It struck him clean through the neck. He collapsed instantly, his bullets still travelling through the sky. In a split second, Hayes' face was covered in snow. Hot lead cut through the soft ground around him. He plunged his head into the snow, squeezing his eyes shut against the splinters bursting off the surrounding trees. He pressed himself into the earth as the bullets fizzed overhead.

The soldier behind the wall balanced his rifle on the worn stones and continued to empty his magazine into the trees. His weapon clattered to a halt. He glanced over the body of his dead comrade, blood pulsed from his neck, a red stream trickled towards him. It flowed onto and around his boots; the soldier's breathing doubled as he jammed another magazine into his Aug, swung his shoulders over the wall and continued his barrage. He was met with a loud snap; he felt the air rush past his neck and crash into the building behind.

"Fuck" Hayes panted in exasperation. He slid back down the small mound of ice, releasing his empty magazine and tossing it aside. Ejected bullet casings lay in little pockets around him, the heat sunk them into the earth. The enemy fire stopped. The battle around them intensified, the shouts had turned to screams, the stories that could be heard from the coast had blurred into a continuous ramble of gunfire. Neither soldier could hear it, they were locked in their own skirmish, any interruption would seem rude. Noise swelled behind the Sergeant from the dense woods. The snapping of twigs, the crunching of snow and the hushed shouts of American troops sounded through the trees.

The main force had arrived, Hayes glanced up and saw them bounding, knee deep around the trees. He felt a dull pang of relief before his suppressor opened fire again. He wheeled around on his knees, a fresh clip in his rifle. The cluster of troops to his rear hunkered down as Hayes' first shot rang out, then another one.

A silent wave of the hand brought the squad forwards, they crawled the last few metres to the sniper, enemy fire still fizzing overhead. Hayes was oblivious to how close they had gotten. He leapt from his skin as the thumps of two 40mm grenades sailed over his head and boomed into Objective Alpha. His knees jerked, he lost his grip on the ice and treacled down it, swearing under his breath. He rolled over to greet his support.

"Good shot, Corporal" the Lieutenant said. His voice was muffled through woolly garment over his mouth, Hayes still saw his wry grin stretch beneath it. "Owl 1?" he called over a distant explosion.

Hayes nodded stiffly, "Yessir. Sergeant Hayes, sir" he looked over the men before him. Two were reloading their grenade launchers, eight others knelt, red cheeked, ready to fight. "I suppose I should thank you!"

Hayes shouted through a smile, "but I was starting to like that guy!"

"Looked like you needed the help!" The lieutenant responded. "You see any more out there?" he became more aggressive. Hayes peeped through the scope, the troops shuffled anxiously. "Negative, sir. Alpha looks ripe for the picking. I'll keep you covered from here."

The lieutenant didn't respond, Hayes only heard a stampede of crunches as the squad rushed forwards. The lieutenant led the way as they skirted around the edge of the ice, some of them glancing at the two bodies that lay sprawled in the centre. Hayes ejected an empty casing, only three rounds left, he thought. Through his sights, the squad splintered as they approached their objective. Two men checked the creaking hut before continuing over the ice. The rest moved to the left, the Lieutenants hands spoke a hundred words a minute. Their charge slowed into controlled sprints from tree to tree, in a moment they were upon the building.

One trooper scanned the bodies by low wall; he sharply prodded the first with his boot with no response. His shins disappeared behind the stones as he approached the next, the one that took the grenades moments ago. The soldier stumbled in shock; blood spattered the sunshine walls as pistol shots coughed into the air. He fell immediately.

Hayes cursed as he aimed uselessly at the wall, "that tenacious fucker's still going" he muttered.

The rest of the squad bore down on the Russian in an instant. They pummelled him into the ground, Hayes winced and checked the upper floors. One of the grenades tore a chunk from an upper wall, the top floor was exposed. A staircase with a shattered banister peered from the floorboards, gunfire flickered against the wallpaper, and a Russian stumbled up the stairs, fumbling with his machine gun. Hayes placed a bullet through his shoulders, his weapon clattered to the floor and down he went with a yelp.

The squad stormed the ground floor, the Lieutenant leading the way with his M16, he was closely followed.

He dashed upstairs and skipped over the body as if it was a piece of furniture. He glanced back into the woods, he couldn't see the Sergeant, but he could recognise his work. Hayes looked back through the doorway, 3 men surrounded the M-Com station, passing equipment and setting charges. In seconds the trio darted away from it, the screens embedded in the device fizzed and blinked before flashing a menacing red. It was in the bag, barring an avalanche; Objective Alpha was under American control.

The flashes grew more intense, they even started to sting Hayes' eye, he looked back to the Lieutenant. He was at the far end of the attic on the top floor his arms were frantic as he stuffed a 40mm grenade into his weapon and thudded it out of a small window to his front. Hayes swept his view to the right, over the toothpick bridge across the iced lake. Tracers were spitting back from the woods, a small cluster of Russians advanced rapidly, skidding and sliding over the terrain.

A soldier in a red beret led the small charge; the Lieutenant's grenade boomed into him, he disappeared. A cloud of smoke and snow engulfed the squad, who rushed forward still. Hayes unleashed a shot, a soldier with an AEK fell flat on his back. 1 round left, he thought. The enemy continued, the M-Com began to wail across the woods, crying its swan song. Hayes fired his last shot, the M24 bucked in his shoulder; he saw his bullet skim the bark from a tree and angle off, the three Russians that remained were at the back door.

Pulling his eye away from the lens, Hayes tore the empty clip out of his rifle.

He could just make out the Lieutenant in the attic, his weapon blared, then he wheeled around and charged down the stairs. There was a brief pause in the shooting, only the M-Com squealed out into the night.

"Chyort!" echoed from the building. With a fresh magazine, Hayes returned to his crosshairs. A grenade pelted the downstairs walls, then a bracing silence. Glass fled from every window, the enemy burst into the room. They charged at the M-Com station blindly, they were cut down in seconds. Hayes didn't even fire a shot as they tumbled down onto the floorboards. One stumbled a few steps before collapsing onto the station, with a final shriek; it burst in a blue flash.

The Americans gathered outside by the low wall. The lieutenant staggered out to join them, rattled by the blast and struggling to reload. Hayes smirked as a gentle calm fell over the area, before being interrupted by the fight for Objective Bravo.

"Objective A secured, Command, over." Hayes calmly reported. More crunches sounded from behind him, he twisted to see two more US squads emerge from the trees. "They beat you to it guys!" Hayes taunted as they approached. The squads responded with a few grumbles as they passed. "Lieutenant Blundell? Bullshit" he heard one mutter. One trailing soldier dug an ammo box into the ground beside the Sergeant before sprinting with the rest to the tarnished building. Hayes didn't thank him, but it was appreciated. His radio finally responded.

"Copy that Owl 1, good work. Lieutenant Blundell is being ordered to hold position and suppress Objective Bravo and enemies at Owl 2's location on the coast." Hayes looked at the Lieutenant's squad; he frowned as he saw the men advancing over the little bridge and towards the coast.

"You are now to assist Owl 2 and 3 over at Objective Bravo. They've met heavy resistance and need the extra shooter, over." Hayes heard the piercing cracks over the gunfire roaring from the coastline, he drew a deep breath. "Roger that, moving to Objective Bravo. Out"

Hayes tore the ammunition box open and spilled its contents onto the ground, he couldn't carry it with him. He rummaged through the pile of carved and pointed metals, plucking out a few M24 clips. Another frag grenade began to gently roll away; Hayes scooped it up and paired it with the other on his vest. His pockets were reassuringly full, but unnervingly heavy. His legs were stiff as he rose to his feet; he looked over to Objective Bravo. It was peppered by searing flashes of orange, bullets cut through the trees and skipped along the ground in the blink of an eye. A few squads of Americans crept towards it, firing short bursts and gluing themselves to cover. Hayes drew a deep breath, he glanced back the ammo littered at his feet, he couldn't take any more if he wanted to.

He started towards the building, keeping his feet flat over the ice, his numb toes made him less than gracious. He stamped onto the bank, into the middle of the battlefield. He began to spot the pocket marks in the opposite building as he crouched behind a rock before his next dash. The crackles were louder nearer the coast. The jarring cracks of Owl 2 hadn't sounded for a while; they could have been covered by the 40mms the main assault had introduced, or the powerful thudding of an enemy machinegun station.

Hayes peeked over the top of his cover, light was flashing from a fork in the road ahead. A crude green sheet of metal stood up right in the road, a huge gun pierced through the centre was hailing thick, golden bullets down the narrow stretch of asphalt. Hayes seized his chance; he swung his rifle over the rock and aimed straight at the gun. The muzzle flashes burned his eye as he honed in on the gunner.

A deafening shot and the gun fell silent. Hayes slipped down into cover and cocked another round into his rifle. He jolted back up, his sights trained back on his target. His scope was instantly flooded with a golden flash, the gun opened back up and boomed towards the sergeant. Bullets hurled themselves into the rock; Hayes cowered behind it, squeezing his eyes shut when the lead struck the exposed boulder. The shots hissed inches over his head, the sporadic stream hacked away at surrounding trees, snow dribbling off the branches and cold bark littering the ground.

The fire stopped for a few seconds, Hayes opened his eyes, the fire resumed immediately. He glanced over to his left, Objective Bravo looked quiet, and the heavy MG fire was at least diverted from the men advancing on Bravo and the M-Com station. Just as the sergeant glanced, a pair of American troops darted out from their cover towards the building that housed the station. They took fire, but were at the walls of the house in seconds. The leading man wielded an M60; he flattened himself against the grey walls of the building and sheepishly peeked around the corner at the machine gun.

His nervous head belied him, as the soldier confidently stepped out from the corner, shouldered his machine gun and opened fire at the emplacement. Hayes heard the pings of each bullet striking off metal sheet protecting the gun. Hayes looked to the floor and saw the bullets sweep across and through the snow towards the brave trooper. He tucked himself behind the wall as shots peppered the building walls, shredding concrete chunks as easily as a mole digs through dirt. The soldier cowered away from the corner, bumping into the man by his side as he started reloading.

Hayes took his chance; again he swung his rifle over the tattered rock, aimed and fired. The gunner was forced to face away from the sergeant to hit his latest threat, Hayes watched as the Russian clamped both his hands to his neck and flew to the ground.

There was a silence, somehow there was quiet in the midst of the battlefield. The crackling ambience seeped back in, Hayes could only just hear his own heavy breathing. He glanced back to the soldier who diverted the gunner's fire, he swung his hand into the air with a thumbs-up, and Hayes did the same back. More Americans stormed the building, hopping and kicking through the snow.

The enemy fire grew, very suddenly, more intense. Three or four Americans were cut down as they ran towards Bravo, rapid bursts of fire sliced through them, they fell in a heap. Their comrades dashed over their bodies, ducking and weaving through the shower of lead.

A medic was amongst the few troops that made it to the objective. He dumped his weapon on the ground as he saw his fellow soldier tumble into the snow. He smacked the man next to him on the shoulder and sprinted over to the corpse, enemy fire almost combing his hair. More Americans advancing forwards swept over him, another one fell as a bullet struck him clean through the helmet. The medic swore as he snatched a fallen soldier by the forearms and dragged him back towards the building.

The enemy fire became deafening, US troops now inside building Bravo returned fire with 40mms and hand grenades. Hayes looked on, and was hit with the inspiration to do the same. He twisted in another round and peered towards the enemy lines. A red beret went flying as Hayes fired a shot; he heard a delayed yelp as he aimed for his next target. A Russian boldly stood up to fire a 40mm grenade of his own, Hayes saw him aim high, for one of the upper windows from where an American was raining down fire.

An ear-splitting shot and the enemy's torso violently twisted to the side. He still managed to fire, but his shot sailed into the sea. Hayes had grabbed some attention as a few tracers zipped over his head; he took cover and calmly reloaded. The M-Com station at Bravo began to cry, the charges had been set. Hayes looked back at the building, flashes of red pulsed from inside, the house drew more fire, the windows were being pummelled, some shots were even hitting the chimney.

The medic continued to dart into the open, now only one body lay before the house, the rest were miraculously receiving some attention from another, newly arrived corpsman.

There was a break in the fire; Hayes seized his chance to dash towards Bravo. His heart exploded with adrenalin when he saw bullets streak across his face and heard then crash into the trees beside him. His legs were already burning after a few metres, his arms pumped against the weight of his rifle as he panted across the thin coast road and slid into cover behind a low wall, a few feet away from Bravo.

Enemy bullets bounced down the road, but were much too far behind to catch the sergeant. Hayes exhaled everything in his lungs as the brave medic dragged the last body once again through the enemy fire, lead clipped his heels and punctured the ground around him, yet he refused to take a bullet.

The M-Com station went from a whimper to a wail as the charges ticked down. The sound of bullets smacking the walls was almost enough to drown its fearful cries, fire volleyed in and out of every window and doorway. Hayes dragged himself to his feet and skipped over the low wall. He swore as he tripped on a body that was tucked, face down on the other side. The body didn't stir, Hayes shot a glance at the medic but he paid no attention, he was furiously rubbing together the pads of his defibrillator, cursing as he sent another violent shock through the soldier in front of him.

The sergeant clambered to his feet again; he slithered up against the back corner of the building. He flinched as tracers swept across his vision, sailing over the heads of the medics a few metres beside him. Hayes slipped his M24 around the sharp, cold edge of the building.

There was a jarring explosion, flames licked from the top floor of the building as two 40mm grenades sailed into it. The building rippled with vibrations as the explosion tore the top floor walls apart. A huge slab of concrete, one side wallpapered, the other charred from flame sailed through the air, it flipped over the cliffs on the coast and down out of sight.

There was another eerie silence, ringing ears took hold again. The building seemed to buck Hayes away from it, he stumbled a few feet as he heard blood curling scream slowly leak into his ears. Hayes turned his gaze upwards, at the upper floors on the receiving end of the blast. An American soldier seemed to float down from the gaping hole in wall, his right arm had been ripped off at the shoulder, his legs seemed crooked and his goggles were caked with blood from inside and out. He thumped into the snow below, his head rolled to the side and he didn't twitch another muscle. Hayes heard cursing from inside, then a scream for a medic, the American gunfire stopped in shock, and then it slowly wound up again.

Hayes swallowed hard, the M-Com station had become deafening. It was loud over by Objective Alpha, Hayes thought, he wasn't used to being this close to the combat. There was no counter-attack on Bravo, yet they had easily lost more men, the only selfless last gasp effort came from the medic who still pounded the chests of the corpses around him.

Hayes peeked around the corner again; his eye was already at the scope to avoid another glance at the mangled corpse a few feet away. He spied an enemy laying prone, his weapon tucked away, reloading, the sergeant thought.

He fired, a wispy trail burrowed its way into the body's shoulder, it was nudged by the bullet but nothing more. Hayes grumbled as the soldier lay still, just as dead as before he shot it, again. A clamour of footsteps came from behind the Sergeant; Hayes was puzzled to see all the noise being made by the two medics as they suddenly started sprinting away from the building.

Then the cry came: "Incoming! Incoming mortar strike, get down!" The bellow came from inside Bravo, voices erupted from inside, as did the footsteps that hammered the floorboards.

Hayes gripped his rifle tight and wheeled around to run, the first mortar screamed from the sky. It hammered into the roof with a huge bang. Hayes stumbled with his first step, rocked by the explosion. Another round punched into the building, directly through the first hole, crashing through the floorboards into the ground floor.

An American soldier staggered out of the doorway, bouncing off both sides before collapsing in the snow. It was the soldier with M60, the one that surely kept him alive with his distraction.

Hayes rushed towards him, curling one arm under the trooper's shoulder and heaving upwards. Another explosion ripped through the building behind them, the M-Com station screeched through the smoke and the noise, still yet to finally blow. Hayes grunted as the shockwave shoved him forwards and off balance, two more mortars stamped down in quick succession. Hayes heard screams from inside as he continued hauling the other man forwards.

Another bone-bending explosion, closer than the others, it landed on the coast road, cracking the asphalt. Hayes released a loud grunt as the shockwave swept his feet from beneath him. He fell on top of the other solider; his eyes were vacant as blood started to trickle from his nose. The sergeant gripped him by the shoulders and tried to heave him to his feet. "No, it's not over" Hayes growled under his breath.

Hayes' ears flooded, once again, with nothing but ringing. The wind was punched from his lungs as he felt a jarring thump across his chest and face. Pain shot through his ears and behind his eyes, his vision turned from blurred whites to darkness like a switch. He felt the blood wash through his toes, to his scalp and back down again. He couldn't feel his legs to balance; he was weightless as hot air gushed across his face.

In the darkness, he suddenly stopped with a violent jerk. Hayes lay in the pitch black, the hot air went cold, and his limbs grew heavy, the ringing in his ears felt silent as he slipped into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Battlefield Episodes: Chapter 2

(A/n) Well, this has been a long time in the making! I've had so much else to do I haven';t been able to find the time for this, but it seems rude to give readers a taste and then just ignore them, so I'll try and get this back on track. A big thank you to Fatdude and Ultimate Telos for their reviews, without the feedback it can be pretty tough to find a reason to keep the concept running!

Hopefully you enjoyed the first chapter; it very much sets the tone for the kind of fic I'm trying to create – lots of blaring action with some relatively fleshy characters thrown in for good measure. This next chapter concerns the medic seen dragging wounded comrades towards safety – he's in the thick of it already, so we'll be going straight back into the fray without further delay

Read, review and enjoy!

Corporal Sutton spluttered under the carpet of snow, he coughed it from his mouth as he rustled himself from the thick layer thrown over him by the mortars. Cold powder clogged his ears, muffling the chaos around him. He bolted upright, ripped his arms from the earth and tried to kick his legs free.

Sutton jerked his legs, but they felt heavy. He keeled across and clawed away at the snow still covering him. He swept a few layers aside when his nails scratched across the familiar feeling of hard Kevlar. He sharply drew breath and swept faster, his fingers tangled and scraped across more equipment and fabric until the full upper body of a dead soldier was visible. Sutton glanced up to see his own boots jutting upwards on the other side of the corpse; he wiggled them in daze, to check if they were even his own.

The sound of the battle was still gagged; Sutton could feel jarring vibrations pulse through the ground and into his backside. Blazes of red pumped from inside the remains of Objective Bravo, reaching fever pitch before erupting in a blinding blue flash. Warped hunks of metal flew through the gaping wounds of the building, the hollowed out body barely able to stand its own weight. The M-Com's destruction tipped it over the edge.

Sutton turned to see the house fold into itself in silence, releasing what felt like an earthquake through the corporal's body. Sutton swallowed hard as he saw the writhing body of an American soldier hold his arms to his face as the building swallowed him whole. Sutton clenched his eyelids together and gripped the icy ground with his fingers. He pulled himself backwards, dragging his legs out from under the half-revealed body. His hands blindly tugged on the ground behind him, Sutton felt another shudder run through him as he grabbed his hand onto more wet flesh. Sutton didn't turn to look; he brought his shaking hand round to his side and found it dripping with blood.

His stomach lurched, as it had done since the Hercules he was aboard dragged itself into the sky. He had always been prone to air-sickness, but seemingly immune to everything else. Other soldiers joked that he revelled in the macabre of his work, how he was unfazed by quadruple amputees or phosphorous wounds but spilled his stomach the moment he was a few feet off the ground.

But this was all it took; Sutton started heaving, before twisting to his side and vomiting hard. His eyes and nose streamed, all manner of fluids were kicked loose by more explosions rippling through the ground. He spat the last few chunks from his mouth and began staggering to his feet.

The vomiting felt good; he needed it gone from inside him, half of it wasn't the gore, it was exhaustion, being completely drained of everything, the snow, the sound, the sights, the running and thumping and dragging and shooting felt like a hot pair of hands were knotting his insides. He smeared his bloody hand into the snow, glancing back at its owner. The soldier lay sprawled out on his back several metres away from the demolished house, the mortars had torn chunks out of his limbs and simply tossed him aside.

Sutton spun his gaze around 360 degrees, weapons and equipment littered the thick, lumpy snow around him. The boots of more dead men jutted out from underneath, a pair of blood-stained grenades rolled gently down the coast road and the butt of an M60 poked out from the powder with a limp hand embracing the trigger. Sutton stumbled towards it, tripping and slipping on the hidden corpses under his feet.

The snow dribbled away from Sutton's ears, the sound of battle leaked back in. The forest shook with the ripples of gunfire, bullets were still snapping into the wreckage of Objective Bravo and raking snow off nearby branches. The large machine gun emplacement boomed once again, this time manned by US soldiers who quickly had disassembled it and turned it on the enemy. The cracks from the remaining Owls still pierced through woods loudest of all, a few milliseconds of silence seemed to follow each shot.

Sutton dropped to his knees and grabbed the fist curled around the M60. He squeezed its wrist for a pulse but felt nothing. Sutton had landed with an M14, but was glad to see the back of it, wherever it was buried. He thought it would be a shame not to put the machinegun to better use, and a dead owner eased the guilt somewhat. He uncurled the body's fingers from the handle and heaved it from the snow.

American shouts echoed down the coast road, 2 full squads emerged from around the bend, hunched over their weapons, some skittishly dodging along the cracked asphalt. Sutton was brushing off snow clogging the barrel when they were upon him. The leading soldier leapt over the low wall and straight into the lumpy pit of bodies in the process. He waved a hand to greet the Corporal and immediately lost his balance, slipping on a pair of cracked goggles.

"Goddammit!" he grunted as he scrambled to regain his balance. His head darted left and right as he gradually began to realise why he had fallen. The second squad member skidded to a halt by the low wall as he saw his superior slip, the remaining men clattered into his back, followed by panicked volley of cursing.

The falling soldier startled Sutton has he rummaged for more ammunition. "Watch your step!" He barked at the Corporal. The soldier cleared his throat, as if to deliver bad news. "It's nothing but bodies under here!" he continued, nodding sternly to the hidden graveyard under his knees.

"No shit!" Sutton spat back, and grimaced as he saw the soldier's insignia stitched into his upper arm. The Captain didn't seem to notice, he waved his men forwards and along the road. They quickly shuffled around the low wall; none of them took their eyes off the sickening red lumps surrounding Sutton and the Captain.

Sutton seized another magazine for his M60; it was all that could be found in the wreckage. He spotted the Captain's M14 slung over his shoulder as he peered into the distance through binoculars. Sutton dug out his swollen pockets, littering the ground with unused M14 clips.

"Captain!" Sutton called over a distant crack of sniper fire. "D'you have some room for these!" he tossed the ammunition at the Captain's boots. He snatched them up in an almost feral motion, stuffing them into his pockets and thanking the Corporal.

"I appreciate it, son. These'll all be gone by dawn, count on it!" He spoke gently, with a slightly southern drawl that seems to come with promotion. His voice cut through the sound of battle like a warm wind, he carried a tone that never needed to be raised.

"Well, I seem to have misplaced mine!"

"That's a damn shame!" the Captain grumbled as he spied Sutton squeezing the M60 magazine into his newly emptied pockets. "Name's Captain Murray, leading the 2nd platoon right the way through to the other side. Where's the rest of your unit, Corporal?"

Sutton couldn't think of a way of pampering the grim truth, he was still for a few seconds before slowly shaking his head, looking ashamedly along the ground, glancing over his own puddle of vomit amongst the bodies. Murray frowned as he followed Sutton's eyes over the bulging ground, finally resting on the rubble of Objective Bravo.

"Most of them are, uh, here, sir" Sutton said regretfully. "But, a handful of the squad went on ahead to get a visual on the next objective and try to delay any counter-attacks! I haven't heard from them since we took Objective Bravo, sir!"

"Ok good, the new Bravo is our next stop. Hook up with my squad and we'll push through and give them some support! Understood?" Murray boomed, his Southern drawl leaked through his authoritative tone.

"Yessir!" Sutton confidently barked. The Captain's assuring nature was a breath of new life as the pair shouldered their weapons and stumbled over the lumps towards the rest of the squad. Sutton winced as his boots slipped on plates of broken Kevlar and trod on spongy fingers. Cpt. Murray adeptly dashed through and hunkered down beside the destroyed house. His squad had swiftly crossed the road and had clustered behind the machine gun emplacement; a few were dispensing more ammunition while others spotted targets whilst the MG raked the area.

Sutton crouched beside the Captain eyeing his squad across the road. He made sure the long barrel of his M60 wasn't dug into the snow and tried to balance himself against its weight. Bullets panged into the emplacement's metal cover and ripped holes through the snow beneath the squad's feet. A pair of men replied to the fire with 40mm grenades, thumping them inches over the head of the machine-gunner. The grenades boomed in the distance, and the MG was met with more ferocious gunfire. The pair wheeled around on their knees, snatched more grenades and slipped them smoothly into the barrels to fire again.

Murray unleashed a deafening whistle to his squad over the road. The 40mm pair froze and snapped their gaze to the Captain in an instant, as did the rest of the squad. Murray flashed some quick symbols with his gloveless hands and nods rippled through the squad. The men started to shuffle towards the snow banks to their left, propping themselves over the top with their weapons shouldered. Another squad member clutched at his 40mm trigger and joined the pair, who had moved out of cover and nearer the road.

"Corporal! Covering fire!" Murray bellowed without a moments warning. He burst out from beside the rubble and into the road, his legs pummelling the slippery asphalt. The trio with 40mms released a volley of fire and dived back into cover. Sutton swung his M60 over and onto the wreckage, unleashing short bursts as the tripod dug itself into the debris.

Sutton didn't honestly know where he was supposed to be shooting, but the painful jabs to his shoulder assured him that if he connected with anything at all it was going to do something. Streaking bullets snapped at the Captain's heels as he sprinted to his squad. Hot streaks clattered into the ground as the squad by the snow bank provided their own cover. Murray dived across the last few metres to his squad, his M14 outstretched in front of him as he slid behind the MG emplacement. The wisp of a sniper bullet streaked over him, followed shortly by a vicious crack. The trio of grenadiers hurriedly dragged the Captain to safety and began to reload again.

The crack even made Sutton stop firing; he hadn't even noticed that Murray had already crossed the road unharmed. Squinting hard, he followed the wisp as it dissolved into the air. Cries of "Sniper!" echoed from the Captain's squad. Sutton saw the faded white line split between two concrete blocks, his nervous finger itched and he opened fire. The shots peeled hunks of concrete off the bollards, and it seemed to inspire Murray's squad to follow suit. A 40mm grenade thumped into the blocks, shrouding them in grey dust as more bullets flew in.

"Corporal!" called the familiar cry of the Captain. "Move! Get over here, go now!" his words drifted across the road. Sutton dragged his gun from the rubble and gripped the edge of the building with his hand ready to haul himself into the open. The MG emplacement suddenly choked to a halt, met with cries for more ammunition as the gunner clumsily ripped open another box of ammo. Murray called out again over the few moments of silence. More 40mm grenades were arced into the sky, Sutton waited for their comforting thuds before he threw himself into the open.

They boomed in rhythm. Sutton yanked himself up and into the road in a heartbeat. There was another ear-splitting crack. The Corporal didn't have time to wince before a hot, thick streak flashed across his face. He seemed to breathe it in as he sprinted through it, his heart frozen inside his chest. He stumbled over his next few steps in shock, the M60 keeping him off balance.

The MG erupted once again, Sutton crunched down into the snow beside the Captain. Murray clutched his shoulder straps and pulled him into cover beside the grenadiers. Enemy fire was still slicing down the road, another sniper shot smashed into the machinegun's metal shield with a clang, knocking the gunner off the trigger for a second or two.

"I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine!" Sutton stammered breathlessly. The adrenalin was almost blinding, the M60 felt light as he picked it up and plucked the empty ammo box from its side. Just as the Corporal cocked the weapon back into order, a spare magazine slid neatly into his knees. Sutton blinked and raised his head to see one of the grenadiers give a quick nod and slam the lid on a nearby ammo crate. Sutton didn't have time to thank the soldier before the Captain's voice cut through the cold air.

"Alright squad listen up!" he boomed, his voice barely dampened by the thundering emplacement. "We have a new Objective Bravo about 300 metres to our front! It's only a small comms centre along the coast, but our UAVs have reported plenty of defilade and have a visual on another machine gun emplacement. Command believes it's responsible for controlling the radio tower beside it – we take down the comm centre, we knock out the enemy's communication along the entire coast. This one's crucial to the entire assault, so let's get it done quickly so we can wrap this thing up!"

The squad nodded confidently, almost all of them reloaded in the same moment, some casually sweeping snow off their weapons. Sutton began to nod in the moments afterwards; the squad's confidence was contagious. Murray ordered the grenadiers hold their position by the emplacement and keep it fully supplied with ammunition. They nodded with slightly less enthusiasm before nestling themselves closer to the machine-gunner.

"Our best route to the objective is along the coast; we can jump into their defilade and push through from there. Don't forget we've got Lieutenant Blundell's 3rd platoon on our left flank, if they get to Alpha before us then they'll assist from the other side. Also, the Corporal here tells me a handful of his squad has already pushed themselves forward, possibly as far as the Owl units, so make sure to check your targets and keep an eye out for friendlies."

The squad's eyes gradually shifted onto Sutton, he could feel their curious stares through their goggles. He offered a nervous nod back, few of responded. The MG spluttered to a stop once again, the trio by the weapon fed a new 50. cal belt into the gunner's hands. The break in the gunfire was relatively peaceful, Sutton's ears began to adjust back to the crackles and bangs that still echoed into the night.

One sound echoed louder than most, it sounded like the whirring of a machine gun, most likely part of Blundell's rapidly advancing platoon. But the fire wasn't in short, refined bursts, it rattled incessantly through the trees. Gradually it became louder; it even caught the attention of Captain Murray. He leant on his back foot and over the frozen lake trying to source the sound.

Sutton saw the Captain mutter under his breath, the noise grew louder still. Suddenly, the rattle morphed into a mechanical whirr, and under that layer came the dull whine of an engine.

The sound was shrill but muffled by the trees; it was on the verge of drowning out the battlefield. Then, it burst into a crescendo of thunderous noise.

"Oh shit!" the gunner cried. The heads of every squad member turned up at the sky, the gunner turned his attention back to the machinegun, shakily feeding the belt into the weapon.

"Enemy chopper!" Captain Murray bellowed.

Sutton sucked in a huge breath; his limbs ached as he resisted the urge to freeze on the spot. The helicopter hovered just above a nearby patch of trees; it drifted with a slow confidence. With a swift motion, its tail whipped around and the chopper swooped out into the open. Murray's squad opened fire without another moment. The MG still struggled to reload while friendly bullets streaked overhead.

Sutton rolled closer to the snow bank and to the side of the Captain. He heaved his M60 to his shoulder and blasted short bursts at the lumbering enemy in the sky. The chopper looked completely undisturbed by the barrage of ground fire as it drifted further towards the coast. It was showered in sparks, and it finally began to respond to the fire. It quickly rotated, pointing its tail to the ocean and baring straight down upon Murray's exposed squad.

"Get that MG up, Sergeant!" Murray hollered, squeezing off accurate shots at the helicopter's canopy. The thuds of a few 40mm grenades came from the snow bank, they sailed harmlessly past the chopper as it slowly began to advance towards them. Murray yelled for his squad to get further back. Sutton felt a crushing grip on his shoulder as he was hauled off his feet and further into cover.

A gentle whistle echoed from the other side of woods, a burning light ripped through the trees. The chopper dipped forwards with menace, a rocket screamed inches away from its tail-rotor and off into the sky. The helicopter titled back into a firing position, it lack of urgency was more intimidating than the rockets hanging from its underbelly.

It unleashed a pair of missiles directly at Murray's squad. They ripped through the darkness and smashed into the woods beside the MG emplacement. The gunner yelped as he was tossed aside by the explosion. A third rocket swept closely overhead, clattering into the frozen lake behind and burying itself into the snow bank on the other side.

Sutton raised his gun to fire again, desperately firing bursts at the cockpit. The chopper hung in the sky to fire again. Sutton clenched his teeth, the M60 pummelling his shoulder. His terror grew into desperation, his finger clamped onto the trigger as he showered the enemy with everything he had at once. The Corporal nearly lost his footing when the weapon choked into silence, his heart sunk as he heard nothing but dooming clicks.

Finally, there came the gutsy crunching of metal from the MG. Sutton tore his eyes away from the chopper to see Captain Murray swing the huge gun towards the sky and unleashed a barrage of fire straight into the helicopter's canopy. Thick streaks of gold punched into the enemy pilots, the chopper was rocked off its balance in seconds. Sutton saw red splatters rupture inside the cockpit, the gunfire ripping one of the pilots to shreds. The bullets swept along its body, punching through and shredding the metal plated fuselage.

The M60 shook in Sutton's grip as he saw the helicopter tilt onto its side and enter an unstoppable spin. It spiralled towards the ground; smoke billowed from the main rotor and its engine howled across the bay. The howl grew to a scream as it plunged into the ground. The rotor-blades swept into the snow, tossing piles of it aside as the fuselage slapped into the earth. The engine finally whimpered into silence when the blades jammed to a stop.

It took every fibre of the Corporal not to holler in triumph. His hands still shook, he didn't even realise his finger was still clamped on the trigger. The rest of the squad didn't have the same reaction, most of them were slumped down by the snow bank, clinically checking and reloading their weapons. There were only quiet murmurs and gentle pats on the shoulder between the troops.

"Medic! Shit, Bradley's been hit!" one of the grenadiers howled. Sutton turned to see the previous gunner laid out on his back, his chest convulsing as he tossed and turned on the ground. Captain Murray had already released himself from the emplacement and slid up to his side. Sutton saw the Captain's eyes scower the group for him, the Corporal lurched forwards, swinging his M60 over his shoulder.

"Ah there you are…" Murray grumbled, steadying the injured soldier's head with his palms. Sutton knelt down beside them both and reached for the medic kit strapped to his back. Bradley had already stopped shuddering by the time the kit was open and the Corporal was scrambling amongst the contents for a morphine syringe. The Captain was whispering to the wounded Private, his face drew closer to his, furiously scanning over his eyes to keep his attention.

Murray recoiled at the Private's bloody coughs, his chest juddered as blood spurted from his mouth. His nose bled gently, trickling along his cheek and over the Captain's dirty fingernails. Murray grumbled for Sutton to hurry, the Corporal jabbed the morphine into the Bradley's thigh, both his hands were clamped down hard to stop himself from trembling.

The Private let out a long breath, his chest sunk for a few moments. Murray sighed with relief and loosened his grip, wiping Bradley's blood on his trousers. Just as he'd stopped, another fit of coughing writhed through him. He gulped down air to fuel his burning lungs, the Captain growled in frustration.

"C'mon Corporal, what're you doing? He needs help!" He tried to suppress his growing anger. Sutton searched the body to find any obvious wounds but found none. The blood rushing through his eyeballs stung them into tears. Sutton blinked them loose, noticing the Private's eyes slowly turning to glass. He knew there was nothing that could be done. Bradley's injuries would have been internal; the punch of the helicopter missiles would have crumpled his organs into a broken pile of flesh. The Corporal tried to keep the news to himself, before blurting it to the Captain when he saw his aggravation build.

"This man needs a med-evac." Sutton stated as calmly as he could. He looked up at the Captain; his stern eyes didn't even flicker as the MG emplacement opened fire on a Russian squad that rushed into the open.

"There's nothing more I can do, sir! I can sedate him until someone gets him out of here, but that's it!" Sutton voice cracked.

"I thought you were supposed me a fuckin' medic!" One of the grenadiers yelled over gunfire. Sutton and Murray looked up angrily; the Captain stroked an intimidating finger across his lips and snarled his yellowed teeth. Sutton glanced over the rest of the squad, few of them were firing from the snow bank, again he felt the weight of their stares as he knelt helplessly beside their dying comrade. The Corporal's chest grew tight; his breath billowed out into the frozen air. He turned back to the Captain.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I haven't got the tools to help him out here! If I use defibrillators it'll just kill him, I can sedate him one more time but he's still got to get out of here in 20 minutes or it's over." He gushed, glaring at the back of Murray's helmet. A sniper shot cracked into the night, the shot clattered into shield protecting the MG, the gunner shied further behind the gun.

The Captain's head nodded sharply and turned to Sutton. "Ok do it" he ordered. Sutton jabbed the Private's other leg, and in a few moments Bradley lay peacefully still, his eyes glazed but twitching and his chest pumping calmly.

"Lemmett!" Murray barked at his squad. One man's head turned immediately. "Get on the radio to Command and tell them we need a med-evac ASAP! Stay here with Bradley until they come and get him, understood?" A succinct nod was the reply. "Alright, the rest of you, on me! We're going over the road to check on that chopper and then moving on to Objective Bravo! The MG here will keep us covered! Let's move out!" The Captain leapt to his feet, his arms sweeping his men in front of him, the whoops of "Yessir!" drowning out the crunches of their boots.

Sutton's mouth opened to speak while the squad readied to manoeuvre across the road. He faced the Captain's back as he swiftly reloaded his M14. The Corporal saw the radioman trotting towards him and Bradley's body; he stayed on his knees and slowly slid the med-kit closer to his side, guiltily resigning himself to wait behind for the med-evac, if it ever came.

Sutton checked the Private's pulse, it felt weak but it remained steady, pain flickered through his eyes when he drew breath. Lemmett the radioman crouched down on the other side of the body, looking it up and down before glancing at Sutton, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

"Corporal!" Murray's voice boomed over the gunfire. "Get your ass moving! I need you with me, come on!" Sutton blinked in a daze; his guilt was washed away by a simultaneous pang of relief and fear. The fear was the order to go back across the road, dodging _that_ sniper and getting into the enemy's face at the next objective. The radioman shot the Captain a puzzled frown as Sutton grabbed his M60 and clicked his med-kit shut.

The Corporal clambered to his feet and shuffled nervously behind the rest of the squad, only one of them spotting him. His weapon was reassuringly heavy, a full magazine jutting from its side. Sutton twisted his boots into the snow like an athlete in the starting blocks, searching for the slightest patch of grip to launch himself towards the enemy.

A sequence of explosions ripped across the woods from Objective Alpha, the attack on the left flank was clearly well underway, and Murray's squad had waited long enough. Sutton thought of the few of his own squad-mates that had rushed forwards to protect the others. His heart thumped and his fingers twitched as he pictured them cowering, alone, before the enemy, maybe another Owl sniper lying dead at their side. He chose to stay behind, but still saved no one, even the time spent saving Bradley could be wasted, he swallowed hard at the though of Murray's team stumbling over another pile of American bodies.

"Covering fire!" the Captain's voice rumbled to his men. The MG continued to rake heavy fire towards Objective Bravo, clawing bark off surrounding trees and slicing some to the ground. "First stop is the chopper, let's go!"

Murray led the dash across the road, his quick footing gaining him a metre on his nearest comrade as enemy bullets began to hiss through the air. His boots slipped on the icy asphalt, swinging his M14 across his chest. Sutton could hear his panting over the crescendo of gunfire that greeted him. The rest of the squad lunged forwards after a pause in the MG's covering fire. One soldier twisted and fired a 40mm grenade from his hip as he stamped across, it arced along and exploded in the centre of the road, he cursed and left the barrel empty and continued to the other side.

Sutton was the last to heave himself into the open. Freezing wind lashed his face as he emerged from behind the booming emplacement. The surrounding gunfire ruptured into a deafening roar, sniper shots snapped the sound of the ocean in two, the duller thuds of distant explosions quaked through the tarmac and the shouts and screams of Russian soldier became unnervingly audible.

Sutton tried to keep his eyes up, the rim of his helmet jolted further down his sweaty forehead until it almost blocked his view entirely. He slipped a hand away from his machinegun and punched it further up his head, the battlefield seemed to open in front of his very eyes when he saw bullets streak into the snow around the entire squad.

Another sniper crack split through the air, Sutton glimpsed at the wisp as it cut through a briefly empty gap in the formation, just behind Captain Murray. The group advanced on the destroyed helicopter undeterred. More shouts and screams in Russian coincided with another barrage of small arms fire. Flashes of lead pierced through the sky, each one that passed carried with it a threatening hiss.

The snow ahead nearer the coast began to morph into large lumps and was peppered with small craters. Murray dived behind a large heap of snow scrambling to shoulder his M14 and began emptying his magazine towards the enemy. His men followed, some splintered off into pairs and darted off in different directions, other leapt into the nearest piece of defilade they came across as the crackles of enemy fire grew louder. Sutton was the last to take cover, he continued to dash forwards, passing by small pockets of cover filled with American troops.

The helicopter lay only a few metres to his front, the smell of its leaking fuel and searing-hot wounds flooded the Corporal's senses. He spied a small crate just beside the wreckage. Sparks flew off the broken fuselage and gunfire rained upon the exposed Corporal. Sutton dug his heels into the thick snow and almost ground to a complete stand still. The wind felt even colder as he flashed his glance back to see the battlefield almost deserted; the rest of the squad hunkered down or sheepishly returning fire in their cover.

The sound of bullets clanging into the metal wreck grew even louder as Sutton wheeled around on his heels and dove into the crater. He crashed inside in a heap, the edges of his M60 prodding the air out of his lungs. He grunted in pain when a fast, warm wash of air passed over him, a split-second later came a thunderous bang from the very edge of the crater, showering him in warm snow and earth. Dull ringing took over his ears as he scrambled to regain his composure. The M60 felt heavy again, his senses swayed to and fro, Sutton steadied it with both arms and sucked in gulps of breath.

More explosions boomed from outside, the crater dampened the noise as the wind passed overhead. The ringing began to subside as he heard the voices of Murray's squad crying out, closely followed by the rattling of more gunfire. Sutton heard the shouts of soldiers reloading and warning of grenades, always followed by a muffled boom.

The unmistakable drawl of Captain Murray echoed from his cover. "Hostiles! 1 o'clock! Aim for the concrete blocks!" The voice was met with an overwhelming reply of gunfire from his squad. Sutton heaved his M60 over the edge of his crater and squinted through his iron-sights. Turning to his 1 o'clock, he saw a trio of Russian soldiers scrambling through the snow towards some concrete cover. He could see friendly bullets tearing into the bollards already, but the enemies advanced.

Sutton opened fire; unloading short bursts at the men. The bipod dug itself neatly into the ground and kept his aim steady. He saw his bright bullets slice into the pair of trailing Russians; the first one was punched backwards by a cluster of bullets to the chest. The other bursts slashed through the second man's legs, he yelped as he stumbled to the ground, a stray bullet then caught him in the neck, killing him.

The third man slid into cover as the M60 ripped through the powder merely inches behind him. He ducked down out of sight, Sutton released the trigger.

"2 down! 1 left behind the bollards!" he heard a man holler. Sutton would have raised a smile when another pestering sniper shot swept over the Corporal's head. His knees buckled in shock and he feet scrambled for grip, barely keeping upright as he used his weapon to steady himself. He pounced back behind the iron-sights, furiously tracking the wisp back to its source. Again it had split between the concrete bollards, but Sutton had a different angle from before, and saw it stretch further back and finally stop neatly in a ground-floor window in the comm centre.

"There you fuckin' are…" he grumbled under his breath. He raised his sights just above the window to account for the distance, and squeezed off a couple of short bursts. Just has Sutton opened his mouth to yell his finding to the rest of the men, Murray's voice cut effortlessly cut him off.

"Sniper! 2 o'clock! Bottom left window! Lay it on 'im!" came the order. Another compliance of gunfire erupted from his men. Sutton resumed his fire, catching glimpses of bullets snapping at the window frame.

A feeble cry of Russian caught the Corporal's attention. He twisted his aim back to the concrete bollards in an instant. He scanned back over his two kills; they lay motionless in the stained snow. The feeble shout echoed again, clearly coming from the single remaining Russian. The American fire continued to pour onto the sniper's window frame, bullets slicing across Sutton's iron-sights as he kept them trained on the man the squad had seemingly already forgotten.

Slowly, shakily, the barrel of a weapon reared its head from behind one of the bollards. It looked thin and short, certainly not a light machinegun, Sutton thought. The American fire remained on the sniper; the weapon crept out further, with more confidence. Sutton readied himself, snuggling the M60 tightly into his shoulder.

In a flash, the Russian swung himself around the concrete, with his rifle shouldered and trained directly at the Corporal. Sutton snatched his finger on the trigger as bright flashes bloomed from the enemy's gun. He heard the enemy bullets cutting into the ground beside his head and arms, Sutton winced and tried to control his own fire, resisting the urge to clamp his finger to the trigger.

His saw his shots showering the lone Russian, who tenaciously unleashed deadly single-shots. Sutton hunched down further behind his iron-sights, his eyes so squinted in fear he could barely make out the target. More shots pecked at his cover, one bullet kicked snow into the Corporal's eyes. Sutton grunted as he unleashed another burst, it was quickly met with a scream and the sound of bullets clanging off the crashed chopper.

Sutton raised himself higher from cover and saw streaks of red dashed over the concrete. The trembling body of the Russian lay next to it, his rifle propped neatly against the blocks. The enemy's whimpers were drowned by the gunfire, bullets continued to snap overhead as he writhed in the snow. Sutton eyes widened as he saw the soldier shakily roll onto his front, revealing the wounds that pocketed his back. He clawed at the snow as he futilely tried to drag himself back into cover.

Sutton watched him struggle to move more than a few feet along the ground, he was almost hypnotised by his determination as he continued to claw at weakly at the snow. It reminded the Corporal of himself, among the bodies, trying to scramble his way free of the heavy equipment and limbs of his fellow soldiers; the dazed sensation of being so far away from the reality of the moment, as if none of it was truly happening.

Sutton tore his eyes away and checked his weapon, only a pair of bullets remained in the belt. He slid back down into the crater to reload. The crunches of boots in the snow suddenly came from his left. Sutton fingers hurriedly jerked more ammunition into his weapon, glancing up at the edge of his crater for a potential threat. More bullets panged off the downed chopper as the crunches grew louder; Sutton finally cocked his M60 and was moments away from swinging it into the open, ready to fire when the Captain threw himself at the Corporal's side.

They swore simultaneously, Sutton crouched further inside the crater whilst Murray collected his weapon and his composure. A few explosions followed in the Captain's wake, they erupted barely a few feet from the crater, showering them both in greyed snow.

"Good work on those Reds, Corporal" Murray said softly over the muffled noise. "And on spotting that sniper, don't think I didn't see that" he chuckled. Sutton managed a smile.

"Well they'll definitely listen to you sooner than me, sir" Sutton managed a smile. His gaze followed the Captain in puzzlement as Murray readied himself to leap over the crater's edge and into the open. He grunted as he gained his footing, before looking back, his face the picture of indifference.

"Give me some cover, Corporal." He grumbled, nodding his head towards the ruined helicopter. Sutton nodded and shouldered his M60, poking the bipod over the edge in preparation.

"Go!" came the order. Sutton hauled himself upwards and snapped his sights on the comm.. centre window to suppress the enemy sniper. Just as his finger pressed on the trigger, a thin grey spiral boomed into the building. It was swallowed in smoke as it was stripped of some of its walls. The whoop of an American echoed over, Sutton's eyes were still fixed upon the settling the smoke.

There was an eerie moment of silence, Sutton timidly drew his eyes from the rubble and searched for the Captain. He was merely a few feet to his left, stood proudly in the open beside the helicopter's shattered canopy. Murray peered into the wreckage for a few moments, then without pause, shouldered his M14 and fired two clinical shots into the pilots' bodies.

Sutton winced as he saw the execution. The Captain shuffled in closer to the bodies, coldly reaching in with his hand and rummaging through their equipment.

Sutton jumped as enemy fire lashed into the wreckage once again. His eyes foraged for the enemy through his blurred iron-sights; the smoke from the comm. centre had dispersed, revealing a gaping wound in the building's side. He drew his eyes away for a brief moment to follow his fellow soldiers' tracers, trying to find the target he was clearly unaware of.

The US fire was spitting to the left of Objective Bravo, closer to the road amongst a cluster of trees. Sutton clamped his eye back to the sights and turned his weapon in the same direction as his comrades. The moment the Corporal stopped panning across, a group of 8 or 9 Russians barged their way into the open, their weapons spewing from their hips.

"Captain!" he blurted as his finger stamped on the trigger. His machine-gun fire streaked through the air and into the Russians. The front two were cut down in a heap, the rest of the enemy splintered away from one another. Some dove onto the ground, others kept charging forwards.

Sutton aimed for one who broke away towards the coast. He could just spy his bullets lashing at the heels of his target. He lifted the trigger for a slip-second, swung his ironsights ahead of the solider and resumed fire. The hot lead almost curled into his, the shots ripped into his stomach and he fell down dead. The Captain and his squad had also opened fire. Only 3 of the Russian remained, the Murray wanted to use the opportunity.

"Forward! Attack, push 'em back, now!" He bellowed over Sutton's M60. His squad needed no more encouragement - they heaved themselves out of their foxholes. Sutton tried to move with them but was greeted with a face full of snow, Murray barked at him to stay in his hole and give them covering fire. The Corporal quickly swept the cold power from his face and blanketed the area with fire.

The squad surged forwards with intimidating speed. The snow burst away from their legs when they trampled through in formation. Murray was a few paces ahead on the right flank, he was firing from the hip, Sutton's bullets fizzed passed his ears and over his head. The final three Russian collapsed into the snow, Sutton's machine-gun coughed dry. He ducked down into the crater and started to force in his last box of ammunition.

Seconds later, he heard a muffled cry float into his cover. His weapon was still empty, he'd only had time to take the spent magazine out. He dropped it to the ground looking awkwardly bare and raised his head back above ground.

"Godammit! Medic! The Captain's hit! Where the fuck did that medic go!" A soldier bellowed across the open. His sentence was barely finished before Sutton was already out of the foxhole and sprinting towards the noise. He left his machine-gun in the crater along with an overfull box of ammo. He yanked his pistol out of its holster as he bound into the snow.

Sutton scanned the area for the noise, or tried to catch sight of a wounded trooper. Enemy fire crackled from the woods, he heard the bullets thump into the snow around his ankles. He quickly reached the bollards he had been firing at before. Red snow covered the base of the mangled blocks, and a couple of bodies were littered on the other side. The cry echoed out again. Sutton poked his head around the concrete to see a helmet-less soldier screaming out into the sky, Murray lay motionless at his side.

Enemy fire fizzed over Sutton's head as he lunged forwards again. The advance of the US troops slowed the moment the Captain got hit, they scattered themselves in small pockets, lying in the snow and firing into the woods. Sutton slid on his knees towards the Captain and the other soldier. He looked boyish, his flushed cheeks and running nose painted the very picture of panic.

Sutton didn't say a word to him; he simply collected himself and checked the Captain for injuries. He stretched the glove off of his hand and clutched it around his neck. There was no pulse. An enemy explosion burst a few metres away, Sutton heard the ringing in his eyes merge with the sound of his defibrillator charging, preparing to deliver its kick-starting pulse.

"Stand back! Clear!" Sutton barked. He pressed the pads harder into Murray's chest and squeezed each trigger. The defibrillator almost bucked Sutton completely off of the Captain. The charge punched into his chest, then the whine of the defibrillator returned as it recharged for another attempt.

Murray awoke with a startled wheeze. His chest bridged up towards the sky, his fists clenched themselves and his legs nearly kicked the other trooper in the side of the head. Sutton saw his eyes adjust to the harsh whites of the snow. Murray spluttered before lifting his head and trying to scramble to his feet. Sutton grabbed him by the shoulder and started hauling him back behind the bollards, while Murray struggled to recollect his senses.

Sutton looked back to see the small patch of disturbed snow become raked by enemy bullets. The other soldier dodged under the hail of fire to rejoin the rest of the squad. Murray took a few more seconds to com to. Sutton clicked his fingers to try and stop the Captain's eyes from rolling around in their sockets. With a nearby explosion, Murray finally blinked stability back into his eyes.

"Thought I'd lost you for a second there, Captain!" Sutton said calmly. Murray shook the dazed expression off of his face and foraged for his weapon. Sutton pointed the M14 propped against the bollards at his side. Murray nodded and snatched it with both hands.

"Christ, I wish you were in my squad every time, son. You're damn fine soldier, I might even put you through for a medal, or least a combat pin." He chuckled before hopping quickly into crouched position. Sutton couldn't help but grin and offer a casual salute to the Captain.

"Anytime, sir!"

"Good luck, Corporal." And with that Murray hurled himself back out into the open, his M14 clutched tightly to his chest. Sutton shook his head in disbelief, when the thought suddenly hit him that he still hadn't found his squad. They were supposedly still up ahead at Bravo with one of the Owl units, but he hadn't heard anything from them since.

He paused briefly before dashing back towards the destroyed helicopter again. His M60 was still lying uselessly on its side when he arrived. Sutton gently slid another belt of ammunition into the chamber and locked it in place with a satisfying crunch of metal. He swung the weapon back over the lip of the crater, eager to provide more cover to Murray's squad.

They had finally converged on Bravo, Sutton spied the others tossing grenades through the small windows before barging in. There was the faintest bump of noise in the distance, out of the corner of his vision, from a small patch of trees; Sutton saw a thin wisp of smoke arcing through the air. In slow-motion, it bent downwards, streaking towards him. His eyes widened, he quickly tried to haul his weapon back into crater with him. The bipod had dug itself into the packed ice - Sutton squeezed his eyes shut when the 40mm grenade was merely a few metres above his head.

Murray heard the explosion behind him, he looked back at the destroyed helicopter and saw nothing but the ploom of smoke from sporadic grenade, an empty crater, and nothing else. He assumed the Corporal was elsewhere, probably filtered in without another squad in need, or maybe he'd even found his own. Murray shrugged and stepped in through the charred doorway of Objective Bravo.

(A/n) Sorry for the mammoth chapter there. The more I wrote the more detail appeared in my head, and it seemed a bit of a shame to let some of the depth go to waste. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it. And remember to review if you want to see any more in the future!


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